


Devil's Advocate

by StopTheDreamer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Cocky Little Shits, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Inquisitor Being an Asshole, Minor Character Death, More than likely this will be getting dark, Oral Sex, Rare Pairings, Really I just write this for the smut, Semi-Public Sex, Sex for Favors, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Smut, dumps trashcan onto keyboard, no one likes our inquisitor, oops my porn grew a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTheDreamer/pseuds/StopTheDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story of a woman who was forced into a position she never wanted. With power over so many, Inquisitor Lavellan is terrified, even if she has forgotten that fact herself. She has kept a cold shoulder to those who have sworn to fight by her side. Distance is easier than failing someone who truly believes in you, and her choices have been met with nothing but disapproval from her inner circle.<br/><br/>Until a run in with an ancient demon. A hastily made deal leads to a battle of wills and snarky comments, as Lavellan finds herself sharing her bed with Imshael for information on the Red Templars. Even though his presence is making every day more stressful at Skyhold, she finds herself waiting for the nights he visits her room.<br/><br/>Presumably done dwelling over her past choices regarding the Inquisition she’s left battling with herself over how surprisingly selfish she wants to be. Stuck somewhere between what she owes herself, and what’s required of her as the Herald of Andraste. She finds herself grasping for an identity that wasn’t decided by everyone but her.<br/><br/>It’s just hard to trust your own judgement when a demon is agreeing with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So this was a fill for a prompt on the DA kink meme. I posted this a few months back but I finally got an AO3 account and wanted to move it over here so I can expand the story. I'm working on the next part and it should be up soon. Hope you enjoy it!

When Michel de Cheven approached Inquisitor Lavellan about the demon hiding in the creators-forsaken hills of Emprise du Lion she assumed it would be quick. Find the demon, maybe kill a few Red Templars who got in the way, and be back to camp before the sun was down. The Inquisitor was confident in her abilities as both a leader and a mage. Few things gave her pause on their adventures any more. This included the numerous giants and other monstrous abominations they had fought while making their way through Suledin Keep. While her group made it to their goal without any major injuries it had taken a great deal longer than she had anticipated. Needless to say, her patience was about gone, not that she had much to begin with.  
  
Now here she was, standing feet away from the demon they trucked all the way out here to destroy and he dared to bargain with her. He stood there, posture relaxed, a cocky grin on his face, confident that she would accept one of his offers. Maybe it wasn't that he was actually confident, like the vendors you pass in the market who try to sell their wares with a smile. He paraded the offers in front of her like they should be the most tempting things in the world. Certainly some people would cave to vague promises of power and wealth, but he'd have to offer something a bit more tempting if he was to buy her.  
  
Lavellan crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels. A long sigh escaped her lips. “Really,” She met his smirk with her own. “That's the best you have to offer?”  
  
Imshael went to respond but Lavellan held up her hand, cutting him off.  
  
“Power?” She scoffed.  “Do you realize what I've done to be standing here today?” Her pulse was quickening and it was getting harder to swallow. Her voice had become audibly shaken, let it never be said the Inquisitor lacked passion; at least, when she was talking about herself. “I have brought order to the mages after the rebellion, fought and won against every known high dragon in southern Thedas. I have _literally_ walked the fade, and I have the throne of Orlais in my debt. Not to mention the numbers I have at my command.” She never claimed to be humble.   
  
Remembering herself she calmed her voice and continued on. “Wealth? I have enough trade routes with countries and city states to fund the Inquisition and still leave an obnoxiously large pile of valuables in the vault.”  
  
Imshael was beginning to look slightly irritated at this point. “So-”  
  
“Oh, and I won't even start on the virgins,” she said with a slight chuckle in her voice. “Not to my tastes as it were.”  
  
“Well then Inquisitor-nothing-is-good-enough-for-me, do tell, what is it that you desire? Let’s start there and we will see what I can do for you.” He was clearly exasperated at the whole ordeal.  
  
What was it that she wanted? She wanted out of these snow blasted hills, out of Orlais. She wanted to be home with her clan where no one would question her if she isolated herself with her studies. Where she didn't scare people, and wasn't gawked at for her ears or large eyes. Where there wasn't always someone wanting something or asking her to make decisions that could save or kill hundreds of people she didn't even know. She wanted to feel some sort of companionship. These people who followed her, they respected her but were it only because they feared her? Her honesty was more often than not, brutal. Her temper was short, and most would say she lacked empathy. She was tired of feeling alienated but surrounded all at once. She wanted out.

She was suddenly aware of how long she let the silence hang between them. The only sound was the wind whistling through stone pillars of the courtyard. She remembered her numb feet in the snow and cast her gaze down at them. What she wanted didn't matter anymore; she was no longer the First to Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel of the Lavellan clan. That part of her life died in the blast at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She was the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, the one who held the anchor, vanquisher of evil and all that nonsense. So what did the _Inquisitor_ want?  
  
“Come work for me.” Her voice was much quieter than she intended, but it lacked none of her usual conviction.   
  
A harsh bark of unrestrained laughter escaped him, as if someone had just told the most absurd joke. “That's great, you know I heard a lot about you Inquisitor but never once did anyone say you had such a great sense of humor.”  
  
That familiar numb feeling began creeping up the base of her skull, and her back stiffened. No, the Inquisitor was not a patient woman. She hated having her time wasted, she hated spending her days in knee deep snow, and she hated cocky demons who thought they could get the better of her. In one fluid motion her hand shot up and relieved her back of her staff. It was poised in front of her, battle ready.  
  
“Let me tell you how this goes, you have exactly one, I repeat, one thing to say to stop me from throwing a fireball at that smug face of yours.”   
  
He gathered himself, the laugh turning into a slight cough before he waved it away. “Ugh, you and the violence. Look, it's just you actually surprised me.” Imshael took a few unflinching steps towards Lavellan, ignoring her outstretched staff with his eyes locked to hers. “I mean, here you are standing in front of me, the great Herald of Andraste and all that, asking for my help on some Chantry blessed quest.”  
  
“You have information I need, and talents I could utilize.” She had yet to drop her staff.  
  
“Oh of that I'm sure,”   
  
_Did he just wink at me?_  
  
“and I do love delicious irony. So really, how could I turn down such an enticing offer?” He lowered and raised his glance, taking his time to view her figure. Lavellan wasn't amused. Internally she chastised herself for thinking a desire demon could stay on subject, let alone complete a job. “I do need to add something however, just a little disclaimer you see. What you have asked of me isn't just a simple boon as my thanks for foregoing the violence. If you choose to employ me I, like any other working for you, expect some form of compensation.”  
  
“Here it comes.” Blackwall was not amused.  
  
“It's only fair right?” He wasn't asking as much as just pointing out the obvious. His tone said he knew she would agree. Each word dripped with that sly salesman confidence.  
  
“You aren't possessing or killing anyone. No blood rituals, no sacrifices.” As if he'd tell her if he was planning it. Lavellan had gone too far now. If she backed down it would show her second guessing her own judgment. A leader can't seem indecisive.  
  
“Of course not, quick way to lose favor with the boss I'm sure.”   
  
“So what is it you want?” Only now did she lower her staff.  
  
“I hate talking business in the cold. I tell you what, how about I leave you with a token of my gratitude and I'll meet with you to discuss this further at that Skyhold of yours.” The demon didn't wait for a reply, he transformed into a crow and flew away, only a chest was left behind.

Lavellan searched the chest, finding only a shield and a few spirit essences. Tucking those away with the rest of the loot, she turned to leave. “Raise the flag to alert the troops, we'll take this keep for the Inquisition.”   
  
She managed barely two steps forward before Blackwall's voice called out. “Did we really just strike a deal with that demon?” Disbelief filled his voice, and it wasn't without accusation. “Tell me we didn't invite that creature into our home.”   
  
Lavellan did not turn to meet his gaze, she resumed her pace forward. She kept her voice calm but raised it enough to ensure he would hear above the wind. “No we didn't, I did.”  
  
“But should the Inquisition really employ a demon? Doesn't this go against everything we stand for? Is it really worth the risk?!” By now he had caught up to her, his strides closed the distance with ease. The fury in his voice was no longer masked behind some polite pretense.   
  
When the Inquisitor turned she found herself only inches from his face. While unable to remove the scowl that had twisted her brow, she kept composure in her words. “As the Inquisitor, the one who speaks for the Inquisition if I need remind you, I will choose what resources I deem worth the risk. And you will speak to no one of this Rainier.” She made sure the use of his name would sting. “Now raise the flag.”  
  
Cole and Solas waited for Blackwall to return before making their way up the stairs of the keep.

Lavellan watched them climb the steps, but only briefly before starting on her way back to the entrance. There she would wait for them before making the short journey back to camp. Once she rounded the corner and her companions were out of sight she picked up the pace. She wished to put as much distance between herself and them as she could.

Ducking around corners and jumping over the deeper pits of snow, she ran with a grace that was common to her people. Her red hair fanned out behind her. For just a brief moment she tried to lose herself in the feeling rising in her chest, the cold air filling her lungs mixed with the nostalgia of a previous life. She ignored the first unnerving squelch that came from her boots, along with the increasing amount of red in her line of sight. The next corner she slid a few extra feet in a direction she did not intend. The heat of spilled blood had melted the snow enough to create a slushy consistency that threatened her traction. Her legs were stiffening, fearing another uncertain footing. She concentrated on her breathing and the pounding in her ears, denying that buzzing of inescapable agitation. What was its name today; fear, worry, or maybe guilt? A frantic leap over a downed behemoth landed her squarely in the largest of their recent battlefields.   
  
Her landing was less was less than graceful. The snow gave way and she reached out to grab a hold of anything to prevent her fall. She found herself face down in the snow, wrist deep in slush. The impact was more embarrassing than painful, and she moved quickly to stand again. She froze as soon as her eyes adjusted. The snow she had landed in was more sodden than what she almost fell on earlier. The sight that welcomed her caught her breath in the back of her throat. There was no white. Below her, where her face was just resting, was as red as the lyrium sticking out of the dead knight's armor not two feet from her. She glanced around the courtyard, seeing only piles of bodies littering the area. The battle had been a bloody one for sure, but now the corpses had drained enough to completely cover the area in crimson. The fresher kills still had a faint amount of steam rising from them. Dead glazed-over eyes stared at her from behind silver helmets. The red lyrium had pushed some into a physical state that reflected the madness that controlled them. Too many just looked like men. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase everything in front of her. There was too much red.  
  
Imshael's words echoed in her mind.“Is it hero? Or murderer? It's so hard to tell.”

She tried to wipe off her face with the back of her hand but only felt like she was smearing the blood. Her hands were coated in it, and wiping them on her armor took off very little. The sleeve of her coat was useless as well. Her face felt raw and sticky, she could assume what she looked like. The more her hands stuck the faster she could feel herself rubbing. It had to come off. A fog settled itself somewhere behind her eyes and the buzzing began again. The lock that sealed her constant frustration cracked, and it rushed to the surface. She thrust her fist into the snow before her with a scream. The cold stone walls echoed her terror back towards her. All she could hear was her ragged breathing.  
  
_I am the Inquisitor, I carry the Inquisition. The strength they hold is dependent on the strength I possess. I am their voice, I am their sword. I am the Inquisitor, I cannot break._  
  
She opened her eyes again and faced the sky, losing herself in the pale blue. She breathed deep allowing her chest to fill completely. The rapid beat of her heart began to calm and the buzzing was fading; locked away once again behind her worn walls. Her knees did not tremble when she moved to stand.   
  
“Bathing in the blood of my enemies’ indeed.” she half mumbled to herself, and resumed her walk towards the entrance.


	2. Easier to be Alone

By the time her companions reached her at the mouth of the keep, Lavellan was waiting for them perched on a large boulder nearby. She had washed her face clean and was diligently reviewing notes she carried on requisitions. A brief nod in their direction was her only acknowledgment of their arrival. Without a word she tucked her notes away and began leading the way back to camp. No one walked next to her. There was always a healthy distance, clearly establishing who followed whom.  
  
Every so often Cole would attempt to start a conversation about the decision their leader had made. Solas was quick to dissuade him from continuing, with knowing looks and hushed orders of “Now isn't the time.”   
  
They were drawing close to Sahrnia when a sudden thought flooded Lavellan's mind. She had forgotten the chevalier. Being forthright about the whole situation at the keep wouldn't reflect well on the inquisition. There was always the option to just lie. Solas, Cole, and Blackwall were the only ones who knew the true story, and she doubted they would suddenly defy her and tell him the truth. As they grew nearer it became all too clear that she would not need to discuss this matter with Michel. The man was no longer standing at his post, instead there was only a body slumped on the ground next to the bushes.  
  
_What did I do?_    
  
“Cold and quiet, a simple slit across the throat. 'No,not yet...' Forsaken in the end.”   
  
Cole's usual commentary hit Lavellan in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes darted to the body and her knuckles clenched. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes forward, attempting to resume her collected appearance. It was enough for Blackwall to notice.  
  
“Feeling a twinge of guilt inquisitor?”  
  
“Why would I? Fool shouldn't have been risking his neck in the first place.” She had become an expert in feigning disinterest.  
  
“Oh of course, because this isn't a direct result of your little decision back at the keep. A certain demon you decided to let roam free.”  
  
“These hills are full of dangerous things.”

_Of course he killed him. Only an idiot would believe otherwise._  
  
“Keep telling yourself that Lady Lavellan.”  
  
Even though he whispered the last bit, it was obvious he still wanted her to hear. Lavellan pretended as if she didn't. The things people said about her, while not usually this direct, had ceased to affect her. Lady Lavellan's walls were high and barbed; they shut as much out as they kept her in.

Once they arrived back at Skyhold, Lavellan was anxious to relieve herself of the company she had endured the whole way back from Emprise du Lion. Barely a word was spoken the whole way back. The silence weighed heavy on her mind. Usually she would welcome the quiet, a nice break from the incessant chattering some of her followers insisted on. This time however, it only seemed to emphasize the growing disapproval she was receiving.  
  
No one approached her when they arrived. It was relatively late. The sun hadn't yet set but any business there was to attend to could wait until tomorrow. These trips were always exhausting and the last thing she wanted to think about was the numerous decisions waiting for her at the war table.  
  
Not too long after Lavellan had been named Inquisitor, Josephine had started instructing the help to ready baths upon her return from the longer expeditions. She had intended to thank her, but with everything going on it managed to slip her mind. Now it just seemed like a pointless gesture.  
  
Sure enough when she ascended the stairs to her room, there was a hot bath waiting. Scented soap, a few exotic oils, and a large candle sat on a small table beside the bath. None of the other candles in the room were lit, and the thick cloud cover outside prevented the setting sun from casting much light. The room would be shrouded in darkness soon, but why burn candles when you don’t need to. The one by her bath would be plenty for the evening, especially because she planned on retiring early.  
  
She stripped off her armor, leaving it lie on the floor. With a simple tug she relieved the tie from her hair and let it fall past her shoulders. Eagerly she climbed into the tub, splashing more water than usual over the side. The warm water immediately began to work on her sore muscles. Holding her breath, she let herself sink to the bottom. She was becoming drowsy already, but she wouldn’t let a warm bath go to waste.   
  
Once she came up for air she grabbed the soap from the table and began lathering herself. Starting with her face she worked down her body, paying extra attention to her breasts when she came to them. Her new armor hadn’t been as comfortable as she thought. It definitely had been a little tight in some areas. She rubbed the soap underneath them and began making small circles with her thumbs working her way around, massaging as she went. They were heavy and sore in her hands. Leaning back she brought her chest ever so slightly out of the water. Leaving the soap behind, she continued kneading her breasts with both hands. Slowly she breathed in deep, and when she exhaled the water would cover her again. She repeated this, letting the water flow over her chest. The warm wave relieved a little more of the tenderness each time.  
  
Unintentionally, her movements became less about releasing tension and more about increasing the pleasure she was deriving from it. Her thumbs were casually drawing circles around her nipples, causing them to perk up. She could feel her face flushing; the bath felt quite a bit warmer all of a sudden. How long had it been since acknowledged any of her urges? She tried to conjure images in her mind to help her reach the much desired peak. Her one hand began traveling downward. There were so many beautiful men and women in the Inquisition.  
  
_And they all fucking hate you._  
  
She had managed to piss each of them off one way or another. She could imagine how disgusted they would be at the thought of her thinking about them in such a way. Her mood was shot. Dropping her arms back to her sides, she let out a loud disgruntled sigh.  
  
_Get over yourself already Lady Inquisitor; you have more important things to worry about._

She picked up her soap and went back to work, scrubbing down the rest of her body. She wasn't as gentle with herself as she should have been, and some of her skin felt raw by the time she was done. When she finished she hopped out of the tub and threw on her robe without bothering to dry off. At this point she had either forgotten about the oils sitting on the table or decided to forgo them completely. A rather large puddle formed on the floor where she stood. The sheer fabric of her robe clung to her soaked body. Leaving a trail of water behind her, she walked towards her bed. The sun was completely set by now, and the small candle only illuminated part of the room.   
  
She grabbed her brush and a small silver mirror she kept on her bedside table. As bright as ever, her amber eyes shone back at her from beneath strands of her dark red hair. Brushing the hair back out of her eyes, she took a moment just to study her own face. The mirror was helpful for taming flyaways when she was trying to get her hair under control. She wasn’t usually the kind to just stare at her own reflection. But now seeing herself reflected back, it occurred to her that she wasn’t sure of the last time she actually looked at herself. Her fingers traced the dark red vallaslin etched into her skin. In this light it may as well have been black. She stopped to inspect a small cut on her lower lip. It had gone unnoticed until now. It only took a small amount of healing magic to get it sealed up.  
  
  
Reflected in her mirror, she saw something move in the shadows behind her. Quickly, she dropped the mirror and brush and swung around, throwing up a barrier around her as she did so. Looking over her bed she scanned the far side of her room. The candle light didn’t reach into the far corners, and the lack of moon outside didn’t help her at all.   
  
“I know you’re there, show yourself before I bathe this entire room in flames.”  
  
“Again with the violence,” She could hear him, but still not see where he was. “and such a blatant disregard for Inquisition property.”   
  
A silhouette of a man stepped in off the balcony. A quick wave of his hand and all the candles in the room ignited. He leaned casually against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest. She’d recognize that self-assured smirk anywhere, but that didn’t mean he was welcome.

“Imshael, what are you doing here?”

“My Lady Inquisitor, wasn’t it you who invited me here?” His attempt at shock was pitiful. “To think I rushed all the way here to continue our business discussion and you threaten me with fire,  _again_.”  
  
“A natural reaction to unwanted visitors.” The barrier around her waned, instead of calling it back, she let it fizzle out. No use in wasting mana if she may need it soon. She stood her ground, preferring to keep the distance in case she needed to react suddenly.  
  
“I’ll bear that in mind for future encounters. The Inquisitor’s natural reaction is burn it with fire.”  
  
_Why does he look so proud himself?_  
  
And then it dawned on Lavellan, it was painted in that shit-eating grin Imshael wore.  
  
“How long have you been standing there?” She tried to sound curious but her exasperation showed through.

He allowed himself a small chuckle. “Long enough, didn’t want to interrupt your evening rituals. Though I have to say you seemed relatively uninspired.”  
  
_How do you even answer that?_    
  
Lavellan opened her mouth to respond but all she had were sarcastic remarks filling her head. She hated losing her composure, and she hated it even more when any one was there to witness it. When she thought she had found an appropriate response she placed her hands on her hips and looked him straight in the eye.  
  
“As if it was for  _your_  benefit.” She almost immediately regretted saying anything. It would have been better to just steer the conversation back to what he wanted. Maybe she could call this whole thing off; it wasn’t as if she had promised anything yet. It’s not like it would be hard for her to lie, all she would have to say is that Imshael never showed up. It wouldn’t be unreasonable. The demon, content with his escape from Emprise du Lion, never intended to enter into a deal with the Inquisitor. There’s no reason they wouldn’t believe her. They would have to, she was their leader.  
  
“Well it definitely didn’t accomplish anything for you.” He nodded over towards the tub sitting on the far side of the room. “Really, what a shame. You know maybe I should have offered-“  
  
Lavellan, a little louder than necessary, began speaking over him. “You said you wanted to discuss our earlier agreement, can we please try to keep this about business.”  
  
He cocked his head at her, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re definitely not in what I’d call a professional state.”   
  
A quick nod toward her attire reminded Lavellan that she was indeed standing in her robe. She could guess at the view he was getting. Still dripping from her bath, her robe was sodden. Being white silk, it was probably mostly transparent at this point. She refused to make a fuss about it for him. It took more than this to embarrass her. Instead she sighed, loud enough to get her point across, that she was tired of waiting.   
  
Throwing his hands in the air, he took a few steps into the room. “But that’s fine. I prefer things to be more casual.”   
  
He pulled out the chair from behind her desk. Sitting down, he crossed his legs and threw them up on the desk, landing on a few scattered papers she had left out. Arms crossed behind his head, in a relaxed position, he leaned back in the chair so it was only balancing on two legs. He rocked a few times before a serious expression crossed his face.  
  
“My Lady Inquisitor how rude of me, I almost forgot.” With one hand still behind his head he motioned with the other towards his lap. “Would you care to take your seat?”  
  
A disgusted noise, very reminiscent of Cassandra, escaped her.   
  
“Alright not quite that casual.” He ran his hand through his dark brown hair before placing it back behind his head.   
  
Lavellan rubbed her furrowed brow. Suddenly she was remembering all the times she had ran into demons in the fade. She never lingered long around them, though she did dare to converse a few times. Trying to have a serious discussion with one called desire never ended successfully. They all had one track minds. Whatever it was they were after, they would find a way to steer the conversation in that direction. But honestly, people you meet on the street could be more precarious about their true intentions. At least Imshael was upfront about where his mind was. Not bothering to reason with him, she decided to just pick up where her mind kept dragging her.  
  
“You killed that chevalier.” She began walking a little closer, not wanting to yell their whole conversation.  
  
“He would have done the same no doubt.”

His offhand response didn’t reflect the weight of his decision to kill someone, but how could she expect him to feel remorse for something she’s sure he’s done countless times. In reality Michel’s death was on her hands, it was her choice to let Imshael go. Another death to add to her tally, all this blood was really starting to blend together.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted when he spoke. “You question every decision you've ever made.” The front legs of his chair hit the floor when he leaned forward. Feet on the floor, he rested his arms on the desk. He studied her face as if he was dissecting her. “You exude fake confidence in order to compensate for your lack of enthusiasm with the job you've been given.” His speech was very matter-of-fact.  
  
“It's true.” What point was there in lying? She knew he could see the dark pit in her thoughts; all of the self-doubt and hatred. “I wonder if I've made the right choices, or even if I made them for the right reasons. I am not the leader they want, nor do I want to lead.” It felt amazing to finally say it out loud. “But it's my responsibility, and I  _will_  save Thedas from itself; even if I have to drag it kicking and screaming back to reality.  
  
Both his eyebrows raised in a mock imitation of shock. “And you don't desire to give the anchor away?” Was that an actual honest question?  
  
“It wouldn't matter if I could. Everything I have done will have repercussions to some extent. That shouldn't be on anyone else but me.” By this point she was standing just in front of the desk.  
  
“You don't lack for a sense of duty. I'll give you that but let’s think here for a moment; when have you taken responsibility for your actions? You've always let others take the fall. You're so afraid to fail, but why save your pretty neck if no one appreciates it.” His words always sounded like they were mocking her.  
  
“I'm here aren't I? And don't lie to me about my own actions; I know what I've done. I know what I've sacrificed, who I've sacrificed to accomplish what I have. Look if all you're trying to do is get me to give up on leading the inquisition you're in for disappointment. You call yourself desire but you can't even pin down mine. Sorry Imshael you seem to be off point.”  
  
He mouthed the words “Choice Spirit” to which Lavellan rolled her eyes.  
  
He pushed himself back from the desk and stood up. “I think you are misunderstanding me I'm offering to help you in the way you need it most.” Drumming his fingers on the desk as he went, he walked to the front and leaned back against it.   
  
“Says the demon.” Lavellan refused to move for him, even though they were only about a foot apart. Any surprise he caused her when he first appeared was gone. All that was left was her stubbornness.  
  
That ever constant smirk softened a little at the corners. He locked his green eyes onto hers. When he spoke he left out the usual harshness. “Wouldn't it be easier if you didn't have to carry this burden alone? You are surrounded by people who have pledged themselves to your cause and yet you turn away companionship at every opportunity. Not because you want to but because you feel you have to. You distance yourself in order to make the hard decisions easier.” Slowly, as to not cause a knee jerk reaction from Lavellan, he placed his hand on the side of her head. He ran his thumb carefully over her cheek for a moment before placing a strand of loose hair behind her ear and bringing his hand back to the desk. “Let me help you.”


	3. Giving in to Desire

“Maybe I don't want companionship.”  
  
“With someone you are responsible for.”  
  
Was that her problem? Was it a fear of getting too close to someone who she was ultimately culpable for? Would a friend really be such a horrible thing to have?   
  
_Yea because a demon would be so much better._  
  
“You wanted me to work for you, to help you with your little situation with the Red Templars. I can do that. I, in return, ask to be your companion. How does this not benefit you to the fullest extent?”  
  
“You expect me to believe that being my friend is payment enough for your services?”

“Who said anything about friend?” He stopped leaning against the desk. Standing at his full height he towered over her. “You're going to share your bed with me. I do believe I mentioned earlier I'm a sap for irony. Herald of Andraste fornicating with some creature from the fade. Now that's a good story, one I'd be proud to be a part of.”   
  
The grin he wore was that of a cat who cornered a mouse. One who believed he could convince the mouse that his jaws were the most comfortable place she could ever want to be. Though Lavellan had to admit his “predator hunting the prey” look was less intimidating and more amusing. He thought himself more intelligent than her? The whole thought was laughable really. She was not frightened of him. However, the fact that she could literally feel herself become wet at his suggestion was more than a little unsettling.  
  
_Really woman? Get a hold of yourself._  
  
He bent down and brought his mouth to her ear. He wasn’t touching her but he was close enough she could feel his breath on her face. “Come on, drop the act, let down your guard just a little. I know you want this.”  
  
Not daring to turn her back to him, but not wanting to look him in the eye, she looked to her feet. Digging them into the carpet, she willed her mind to grab onto one of the threads of thoughts she had floating through. Any of them, except the one that was warming her insides. No one was ever this forward with her before. When it came to her previous encounters with the members of her clan she had always been the one to initiate. Most of them were brief trysts, nothing of any substance. Just acts of finding a necessary release, or something to pass the time. But this, she could feel a yearning inside her; a heavy throb that with each pulse cracked those walls she surrounded herself with. As much as she tried to erase the thought before it could be fully realized, it still wormed its way to the surface. He wanted her, and the reason why didn’t matter, it was intoxicating.   
  
He placed his hands on her hips. Her robe bunched around his fingertips, causing the already short garment to hike up. The slight chill she felt confirmed her lower half was no longer fully covered. She could feel heat rising up her neck and engulfing her cheeks. His grip became firm, and soon he was squeezing, holding her in place; pressing his body against hers. She knew she could easily cast him off with a well-placed fire spell, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be held just a little longer.  
  
“I can feel it swelling inside you, that incessant need, your  _desire_.” His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it was weaving its way through her whole body.   
  
Her muscles tensed, for a moment she felt as if she was watching the scene unfold rather than participating. How did she end up here, the Inquisitor was not some blushing little girl, she doesn’t swoon; definitely not this easily. But here she was, suddenly very aware of his hands moving lower, her hips aching to twist themselves against him; to put some sort of pressure against this growing heat between her thighs. When did this lump form in her throat?   
  
_Herald of Andraste fornicating with some creature from the fade._  
  
Why did that sound so wonderful? She gave a small roll of her hips against his leg. He eagerly reciprocated, forcing his thigh between her legs. A quiet groan escaped her lips. This was probably the worst idea she could have. Yet, her body was responding in ways she couldn’t deny.  
  
“All you have to do is choose to indulge yourself.” The tie on her robe came undone with a simple tug. He rested his hand on her lower stomach. His fingers on her bare skin sent shivers skittering downward between her legs.  
  
His other hand found its way beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I. Want. You.” His voice was direct, demanding.

 _Fuck it._  
  
Lavellan wrapped her fingers in his hair and jerked his head down towards hers. The intensity with which their faces collided was enough to leave Lavellan with at least one bruise she’d find later. As soon as their lips met her tongue dove into his mouth. Imshael was ready, massaging her tongue with his own; pulling her into a deep kiss. His hands moved back to her hips, where he gripped hard enough to make sure she’d be showing his marks tomorrow. He matched every ounce of ferocity she acted with, but still managed to have more control. They had barely started and she was already breathless against his lips. Her small hands formed fists in his hair, pulling at the roots; still pushing his face against hers. She reveled in the stinging he was causing in her hips. She rolled them against him, aching for him to grip her even harder. Satisfying her motions he leaned into the pressure; letting her grind against his leg.   
  
The initial kiss was long enough to leave Lavellan panting for air when it finally broke. Loosening her fingers from his hair, she trailed her hands down his chest. He smelled of the icy winds of Emprise du Lion, and underneath was the scent of bloodied snow.   
  
It felt so dirty, and she fucking loved it.  
  
Not receding even for a moment, Imshael bit at her lip, soliciting needy little noises from her. Wrapping one hand in her hair he pulled her head back. Her muscles obeyed and she exposed her neck to him. Kissing along her chin, he made his way to her neck. He was almost tender, punctuating his kisses with small nips at the skin. The pure heat of him was overwhelming; it had Lavellan’s head swimming. She was enjoying herself more than she had in a long time, but she was greedy.  
  
Placing both hands square on his chest, she pushed him back against the desk with all her strength. He was laughing a little when he caught himself on the front of the desk, as if he expected no less from her. The inkwell and a few other items clanged and rolled off from the force. Lavellan locked onto his gaze as she dropped the robe from her shoulders, letting it pile at her feet. It was her turn to take the lead.   
  
Imshael bit his lip at the site of her, all legs and supple flesh lit up by candlelight. She was easily a prize worth the effort he put in. The Herald of Andraste was offering herself to him, truly a beautiful sight. He stripped off his robes. Bare-chested, still wearing his pants and boots, he sat on the desk and beckoned to her with both hands.  
  
She took a quick step forward. Seeing her intention Imshael stretched out his arms. When she reached him, he grabbed her and helped lift her onto the desk. One fluid motion and she was straddling him. From her position she was looking down at him, his head inches away from her chest. She arched her back, and brought her hands up over her body, stopping to caress her breasts. Imshael eagerly took one into his mouth and brushed her hand away on the other, mimicking the circling motions he saw her performing on herself earlier. Her nipple was hardening against his warm tongue as he ran over it again and again. He alternated between licking and sucking, until he rolled it between his teeth, drawing a pleased moan from her.  
  
Lavellan tried to pull away, to go in for another rough kiss, but he refused to leave her bosom. He wrapped his free arm around her back, pushing her against him. She settled for running her fingers through his hair, pushing the loose strands back so she could watch him worship her body. He switched to the other, giving it the same enthusiastic treatment as the first. His hand picked up where his mouth left, pinching her nipple and then squeezing her whole breast.

It was driving her mad. The affection her chest was receiving only made the ache between her legs grow. Spreading her legs, she lowered her body against his lap. Immediately she could feel him, the large bulge in his trousers was throbbing against her heat. A slight rock forward enticed a throaty groan from Imshael. If she was being entirely truthful, hearing the needy little noises of the demon whose cock she was teasing was empowering. She bore down on him again, this time with more of a twist to her hips. He muffled his moans against her body, digging his fingers into her back. Craving her weight against his own growing need, he arched his hips up as much as he could to meet hers. She complied, teasing him while slowly satisfying her desire. Soon enough, she had set a rhythm and could feel herself getting closer to her climax.  
  
Imshael grabbed onto her thighs, pressing her down onto him, not allowing her to move.   
  
“Enough of this.”   
  
Her trance was interrupted when he went to stand up. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders almost afraid he would drop her for a moment. He lifted up her thighs, and she wrapped them around his waist.   
  
“I’m not allowing you to finish this way.”  
  
Lavellan rested her head against the nape of his neck as he walked her across the room in his arms. He set her on the bed and took a step back. She watched him as he unfastened his belt, and dropped his trousers revealing his erection. He gave a few strokes up his length while scanning her body splayed out before him. A few drops of precum hung on his tip. He ran his thumb across it, spreading it over his cock. His size, to say the least, was impressive. He was much larger than the other men she had bedded.   
  
“It’s okay, sometimes people need a moment.” There was an undeniable snicker in the way he said it.  
  
She hadn’t realized she was gawking.  
  
“Are you sure your name isn’t pride?”  
  
Ignoring her response he climbed in bed with her. Kneeling at the foot of the bed he gripped her legs and with a quick jerk pulled her closer to him. He placed his thumb against her clit, starting with large slow circles. For a moment Lavellan couldn’t breathe, her back arched in response to his touch. She clasped her hand over her mouth to try and prevent an especially whiny moan.  
  
Imshael forcefully put her hand back at her side. “We will have none of that; pretty sure those noises are mine to hear.”  
  
He placed a single finger inside her, and began sliding it in and out slowly.   
  
“You just need to relax a little more.”  
  
With that he slipped a second one into her. They still maneuvered easily, slick with her juices.  
  
“I know what you need.”  
  
The third finger stretched her walls, but was still pleasurable. He spread his fingers inside her, working her pussy. She was still a ways off from taking him into her.  
  
“And you’ll be screaming my name by the end of it.”  
  
A sharp inhale escaped Lavellan when his tongue touched her clit. Long gentle strokes caused her to clench around his fingers, but the initial oversensitivity passed quickly. His slow pace relaxed her body. Before she knew it she was grinding into his face, pulling his hair and forcing herself into his mouth. He obliged and began sucking, careful not to overstimulate the sensitive area, and then slid the fourth finger in.  
  
“I’m going to tear you apart Lady Lavellan, and when I’m finished you’ll be ruined for anyone but me.”  
  
With that he pulled out his fingers and forced them in Lavellan’s mouth. She gripped his hand and sucked her own juices off his fingers. She savored her own arousal, and the look of approval on his face.  
  
“You have a wonderful flavor, don’t you agree?”  
  
Lavellan nodded, giving his fingers an extra lick.  
  
A firm grip on her chin tilted her head up to meet his hungry mouth. The kiss was brief, and he ended it with a run of his tongue across her bottom lip, as he moved to position himself between her legs. She wrapped her arms around him again, and arched her hips, all but begging to have him inside her. He placed himself at her opening, his tip spreading her ever so slightly. On her next exhale he pushed into her. The sheer girth of him stopped him about half way in.

“Oh, fuck… ” Lavellan bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.   
  
Imshael ran his hand over her hair. “Just breathe,” he encouraged.

He was swollen and throbbing, her muscles clenched around him and she could feel her legs shaking. But she listened, drawing in deep breaths trying to relax her body. After a moment he fully sank himself into her with a heavy groan. Lavellan dug her fingernails into his back, gasping at the intensity of taking all of him in her. She had never felt this filled before, stretched by his demanding presence. He began rocking with her, holding onto her hips, keeping the pace slow. She could feel his cock rubbing against the top of her walls as he pulled back, enticing little whimpers from her. It didn’t take much before her juices coated him, allowing him to move more freely with her.  
  
He pulled out about half way, and slid himself in with more force. Lavellan cursed in elven, but it was followed by a breathless gasp. Imshael thrust his cock into her pussy again, a deep growl rising in his chest. Lavellan could feel her body lighting up, her toes curled in anticipation. His hands found her ass; giving it a generous squeeze he raised her hips up to get a better angle. She admired his body, the way his arms flexed when he lifted her. She could get used to seeing him buried between her thighs.  
  
_The depiction of desire indeed._  
  
She knew what was coming next. He picked up the pace, driving himself into her again and again. He buried his fingertips in the supple flesh of her ass; pulling her against him as much as he drove into her. The feeling was all consuming. Each thrust wracked her body. Lavellan clawed at the sheets, the pleasure was tearing through her. Any sort of control she had disappeared when his hand joined in. A quick lick of his thumb, and he began rubbing just above her hood.   
  
The heat inside her was spreading, singing in her veins as her climax neared. All she needed was a little more. She rocked her body against him, begging for just that extra push. He kept the pace steady, but bent a little closer, tousled hair hanging in front of his face.  
  
“Tell me what you want.”  
  
She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words; lost in a fog of rhythms and the smell of sex. Her head rolled to the side, nothing escaping her but needy groans.  
  
With a firm grip on her chin, he forced her to face him once again. He locked his eyes onto hers. The intensity of his gaze grounded Lavellan, but only for a moment.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“Imshael please… I want to come.”  
  
“I’m not quite convinced.” His hips slowed, turning his thrusts into drawn out, maddening strokes. His hand however, started rubbing at an ever increasing rate across her little bundle of nerves. Her hips jerked upwards unchecked.   
  
Her voice broke. “Fuck me harder you asshole.”  
  
“That’s a good girl.”  
  
He flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her up at the hips. Only half her body was still on the bed, after he mounted her. Lavellan gripped the pillow beneath her, yielding her body completely to his whim. The new angle allowed her to better accommodate his thickness. He pumped faster, burying himself fully with each thrust. His heavy breath was ragged and hot on her back. She squeezed herself around him, milking his cock, begging for him to lose himself within her. Her core was on fire, she could feel herself climbing again. All she could think about was how he filled her so well.

Soon, her walls were clenching around him, and that numb floating feeling was over taking her body. Heat rushed from her core and spread over her. Strings of unintelligible words and curses fell from her lips, buried beneath whimpers of ecstasy. One word was loud and clear. It was his name, and she was screaming it.  
  
A few more thrusts and he was right behind her, gripping her ass as he went. He buried his thickness deep within her and spilled himself. His head fell back and he was all guttural groans. She could feel his cock throbbing, releasing waves of his seed inside her. He held her there until both of their spasms subsided.  
  
Once he removed himself, Lavellan began to drip from both of their juices. She rolled over onto her back and tried to catch her breath. Imshael leaned down and planted a few kisses on her lower stomach.  
  
“The great Inquisitor, reduced to a panting mess.”  
  
She could feel the smug smile on his lips pressed against her skin. Rolling her eyes she moved to push him away, but he caught her hands. Placing them at her sides, he kissed her passionately on the lips.  
  
“It suits you.”  
  
With that he stood up and picked up his clothes. While he was getting dressed Lavellan couldn’t help but to wonder what exactly she just agreed to.  
  
“So-“ She began but he cut her off.  
  
“Better get some rest. I’ll be meeting with you and your advisors tomorrow. I'll properly pledge myself to your cause.”  
  
“I-I don’t think that is necessary.”  
  
“Of course it is. After all, you’re the one that asked me to work for you.”   
  
With that he turned and disappeared out onto the balcony.  
  
_Shit._


	4. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after and Lavellan has mixed feelings about her encounter with Imshael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know Lavellan is a fucking roller coaster this chapter but bare with us. Next chapter won't take as long to get out, and there won't be so much angst. :P
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D

Her ears were ringing. Usually the warm sun of early morning was nothing more than an easy gentle greeting. Now it stung her eyelids, forcing her to consciousness. Little grasps at the dark deep sleep did nothing, it was floating away and she was waking with thunder raging inside her skull. True comfortable sleep had eluded Lavellan most of the night. She remembered the dawn breaking before falling into a broken and stiff slumber. Tossing and turning, her thoughts wouldn’t let her be. Usually she left behind daytime worries when the candles flickered out, but she was haunted by the last night’s activities. She had made a choice, one that would probably interfere with everything she was doing.

 _Unless maybe that was a dream; a wonderful dream_.

Not that succumbing to the persuasions of a desire demon in the fade would have had any fewer repercussions than her exploit last night. Well, her body might have been in better form this morning. Though, she had to admit it wasn’t all horrible.

The state he left her in should have led to one of the best night’s rest she had since she became Inquisitor, but her nagging conscious wouldn’t silence. She couldn’t savor the sweet feeling that flowed through her body, the beautiful slightly numb state he left her in.  No she had to start worrying, her mind rapidly playing out all the possible ways this could end up, and when she began to dwell her mind lead her places that she never wanted to be. Places riddled with guilt and anger, laced with an unfed need. A need that called for more of the sweet release he could bring. A euphoria that could block out everything she knew to be true, if only for a moment; but at what price. For a moment of true perfection, her reward was the crashing realization that she was putting the only thing that should matter at risk. That she wasn’t taking her responsibilities seriously, she was bringing danger to those she was accountable for. Not to mention calling into question her ability to truly lead, or at least lead properly, and honorably. 

She brought danger into the heart of the Inquisition. She put every operation at risk, as well as every person under her command.  It was an obvious ploy; he was there to distract her. To what end she wasn’t sure, though certainly she could guess.  A distracted leader could yield many fruitful opportunities for someone such as him to exploit.  

Though truthfully, who wouldn’t she burn to spend another night in bed with him. She could just shut her door, ignore all who called to her and just wait for him to return.  Live a life of indulgence, connected at the hip.

Her hand traced itself down her stomach, stopping only once it landed between her legs. The smallest pressure curled her toes.  

_Oh grow up and get back to work._

Her head rattled.  The rational parts of her brain were beginning to wake, chasing those deep seated desires back into the dark corners. For all the tension she remembered releasing she was extremely stiff.  The ache in her jaw confirmed she had been clenching it throughout the night. Squeezing her eyes shut in a last show of defiance to the bright new day, she let out a huff and sat up in bed. A sharp pain ran up the side of Lavellan’s neck, and her hand flew up to clasp it.

“First night in a proper bed in over two weeks and I wake up with a sore neck…” she mumbled to herself.  

She kneaded her knuckles against the taught muscle, but it gave little relief.  Warmth began radiating from her fingertips, and she rubbed it along where the pain was the greatest.  Soon her neck was soothed enough that she could turn it from side to side. You can get creative with what you have when you sleep in tents most of the time. There was still some discomfort, but not enough to impede her daily activities.

Still naked from the night before, she left her bed, dragging one leg over the edge at a time. Languor hung on her like a thick quilt, protesting her every movement. A few testing stretches revealed she was carrying her worry in her shoulders, but the pain was bearable, and they weren’t stiff enough to warrant any attention from her soothing spell.

Once she managed to make it on her feet, she started towards her dresser when an unfamiliar shine caught her eye.  An old sheet of fabric had fallen to the floor revealing an object she previously had no use for. She stepped over to the floor length mirror, tucked away behind an unused chair and some boxes full of gifts from a few bootlicking nobles. The mirror itself had been a gift, though from whom she couldn’t quite remember.  When it arrived she had nodded and told Josephine to send off a proper letter of gratitude to whoever sent it. Then into the corner it went, with all the other useless offerings. If the nobles truly wanted to show their gratitude why didn’t they send troops, or weapons, or even information? Something that could actually help with this inevitable battle they all knew they were racing towards.

The boxes clanged and rattled when she moved them to the floor, but she paid them no mind and pulled the mirror out from the corner. Stepping away, she viewed her naked form.  Her hair was disheveled, and framed her face in a way that drew attention to the burn in her eyes. Unrecognizable, she felt as if she was staring in the face of some wild creature. A trickle of pride bloomed as she held her own gaze. Unkempt as she was, she found her current state to be rather striking. One finger traced the recently healed line on her lip, finding it rawer than she had left it. It brought back the image of their first kiss, she had used more force than was probably necessary, and the tear to the newly healed would was her reward.  Her hand moved across her chin and down across her neck, weaving between small marks and swollen flesh, drawing a pattern of wear he left on her body.  A small smirk curved her lips when she came across the bruises on her thighs. Palms flat, she rubbed her skin beneath flexing fingers. Pushing and pulling to fully observe the extent of his signature.

Her body was covered in his marks. Some were just scratches, others more noticeable purple welts.  It was a little odd, the night before had been incredibly passionate, but she couldn’t remember any instances of actual pain that would have caused this mess. And some looked like they were…. healing?

_Wait how could they…._

The realization paled Lavellan’s face. Some bruises were from fighting, no they _all_ were. Here she was, actively searching her body for signs of his desire like some sex obsessed adolescent, so eager to be his.  If her Keeper could see her now, all her training for nothing, how easily she was influenced. What a waste…

 She had no one to blame but herself. To think she was supposed to eventually lead her clan if all this mess with the Temple of Sacred Ashes hadn’t happened.  She would have got them all killed, welcoming an enemy into her bed that easily.

Her stomach sank, and she felt a wave of guilt rush over her.  What was she doing worrying about what could have been? She’s already responsible for an inconceivable amount of people, and the honest truth was she could have already signed their lives away.

Where were those walls now that she needed them most? He hadn’t scaled them and found her hidden among her thorns, hiding in the shadows she created for herself.  No, she opened the gate and welcomed him in.

The only thing she should have been truly prepared for and she threw everything out the window for a night of selfish revelry. He was a demon, a _demon,_ one with a record of working with the Red Templars. The very soldiers of the enemy she was giving up everything to destroy. Everything she sacrificed to get to this point…

Now here she was, looking for signs of his claim on her, any evidence that she had indeed been bedded by some ancient incarnation of desire. Why not just let him possess her now? Apparently she was ready and willing if she herself were looking for physical evidence of his work.

Tears had welled in her eyes, not of sadness but of pure rage. She was furious with herself, how could she claim to be a strong leader, and how dare she act with so little regard for those who relied on her.

Before she knew what was happening her hands found something cold and hard in the box at her feet, and just as quick it was flying through the air.  The stone statue of Andraste caused a sharp crash when it struck the mirror’s surface. Long after the shards clattered to the floor Lavellan’s ears were still filled with too much noise. She felt short of breath and realized she was screaming loud enough that most of Skyhold must have been running to her aid. She clamped her mouth shut, and her chest rose and fell as if she had just run across the Hinterlands.

Shaking her head she willed her body to obey.  Her breathing was still erratic, small sobs of self-loathing broke through her sealed lips and she knew she must look crazy. She dug her nails into her skin, piercing the tender flesh but slowly it brought her back to reality.

_I need to regain my composure._

It was a race against time, any moment a member of her inner circle would be bursting through the door to her bedroom, expecting to find… what exactly?  

_On your feet Lavellan._

She wasn’t going to be found like this, not in this pitiable state. Straining against her own body, she willed her legs to lift her up.

Calm and collected, Lavellan made her way around the room, washing her face and dressing herself. Prepared for the inevitable intrusion of a worried subordinate, she kept her expression blank. Still without a proper excuse for her recent outburst, she at least wanted to appear to be in control of the situation, in control of herself.

Time passed as she brushed her hair. Counting the strokes kept her grounded; each one like laying a new stone, rebuilding her wall.

_64...65…66…_

No more buzz of agitation, no more anger; only a slight numbness laid over her. The closest thing she could feel to true calm. No one was coming. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed by the lack of response, but was grateful she wouldn’t have to explain anything.   

The brush landed against the wooden surface with a slight click, and with one last deep breath Lavellan tied her hair up and exited the bedroom. Even this early in the morning, the main hall was alive with chatter.  Various visitors stood in small groups passing gossip between themselves. Lavellan paid them no mind as she entered the door to the right of her own.

As soon as the door shut behind her Josephine stood up from her desk; the wringing of her hands gave away her disposition. “Is everything alright? I heard a loud crash, but I didn’t want to pry.”

Really? Josephine Montilyet didn’t want to stick her nose into someone else’s business _this_ time. Lavellan’s eyes glanced over to the door on the far side of the room. So close, and yet she couldn’t just shove her out of the way and avoid the situation. What was the best way to approach this? If she was too harsh the whispers of malcontent would surely grow, yet if she seemed too amiable Josephine might push and ask too many questions.

“Pry?”  Lavellan’s tone was caught somewhere between feigned indifference and irritation.

“Well we knew you were…. occupied last night. We didn’t want to intrude; assuming you would want such things kept private.  Initially, I wasn’t going to say anything, until this morning when we heard-”

“We?” She hadn’t intended to interrupt, nor did she expect the word to hold so much bite.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Oh um, Leliana and I. She has her eyes watching all of Skyhold, but she said no one left your room. So we assumed your…visitor hadn’t left yet.”

_That prick planned this somehow._

“In any case, you were wrong. I was alone.”

“Ah.”

“All night.”

A moment of silence passed between the two women, before Josephine smiled and said, “Of course, Lady Herald, then may I ask, are you alright? It was quite a commotion.”

“I’m fine, now I’m sure the Commander has been waiting long enough for me to arrive.” Not waiting for a response, Lavellan left Josephine and headed towards the war room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I want to get on an actual posting schedule, so check back Monday for the next chapter! Oh, and prepare for more smut.


	5. We'll Build Our Altar Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan is a lot more susceptible to temptation than she would like to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added new tags, they will probably get updated a little bit with each chapter.

“I don’t need an introduction, she knows I’m coming.”

The door to the war room swung open and two pairs of footsteps could be heard entering. Cullen broke off midsentence and his attention snapped to the door. Clearly frustrated at the intrusion, he looked to the Inquisitor for any explanation of why they were being disturbed. He knew the Inquisitor had no patience for disobedience, especially when they were discussing delicate matters involving troop movements and the Red Templar threat. Walking into the war room while she was in a meeting with any of her advisors was a quick way to be reprimanded.

Once, when one of Leliana’s scouts had entered unannounced, the Inquisitor put that poor boy to work in the latrines for two weeks. She didn’t shout at him though, no Lavellan always kept her composure. Her harsh words were only accentuated by the calm she insisted on perpetuating. It made Cullen’s skin crawl; if you’re angry then be angry, don’t hide behind some fake mask. A person can’t hold all that in forever, and he didn’t want to be there when those walls tumbled down. But maybe it was for the best, if she yelled every time it looked like she wanted to they’d probably all be deaf by now.

Cullen’s frustration turned to confusion when he looked at the Inquisitor. Usually she’d have turned on her heel and be glaring daggers at the intruder before the door uttered its first creek. Instead, she stayed arched over the war table, nails biting into the wood at its edges. Her head hung so low Cullen couldn’t get a clear view of her face.  Was this it, had she finally reached her breaking point? Cullen unconsciously took a step back. A person her size wouldn’t be able to even lift the war table, let alone hurl it across the room, yet it wouldn’t surprise him if their Lady Herald did just that.

Her disposition quickly changed. Her shoulders shrank, and she let her hands fall to her sides. Now this was a look Cullen hadn’t seen on her before. Why would she look so overwhelmed? Unless, was she expecting him? Who could this man be to have such an effect on her?

“I’m sorry for this rude disruption Inquisitor, but he insisted.” Josephine said, clearly flustered.

Truthfully, Lavellan was surprised he hadn’t shown up earlier. She had watched the sun climb during her and Cullen’s meeting, knowing full well that Imshael’s interruption was inevitable. Now that he was here she realized she had no idea how to approach this situation. For once, she was at a loss. She stopped staring at her feet, and kept herself collected as she quietly said, “Thank you, Josephine.”

If Cullen was confused before, then he must have been utterly shocked at this new temperament their Inquisitor was trying. He opened his mouth in some sort of protest but thought better of it, and collected himself for their new guest. It was best just to follow the Inquisitor’s lead on this.

Lavellan turned to face the door and greeted the man with a nod, “Imshael.”

The man beamed at her acknowledgment and gave a short bow before striding across the room.“M’lady Inquisitor, so glad to see you.”

Josephine hovered in the doorway, unsure if the Inquisitor wanted privacy, of if she was going to order her to have the man removed immediately. It was Cullen who spoke first.

“Inquisitor, if you’d like we can reconvene at a later time, and continue our discussion then.”

No word from the Inquisitor, but Imshael was quick to answer.  “Why wait? I’m here now. Shouldn’t I be a part of this conversation?”

“And why on earth would you think that?” Cullen just met the man and he had no patience for him.

For once the Inquisitor seemed at a loss for words.  By now she would have either been updating Cullen or had this mad man in chains, her silence was rather disconcerting.

Imshael placed his hand over his heart, and looked so deeply hurt it was comical. “You didn’t even tell them?  I mean, when I walked in and saw you were already discussing business I assumed everyone was caught up, and you just didn’t have the good manners to wait for me before beginning.”

Her eyes were narrowed on him; she was hugging her chest tight in an effort to refrain from throwing a fireball. The fabric beneath her fingers showed strain. A slight coppery taste confirmed her teeth had torn into her bottom lip, in an attempt to keep her mouth closed.

He waved his hand, as if to dismiss the thought. “Though I know, I was late, my fault; can’t really blame you for going on without me, but no mention of me? Not after everything we discussed last night in your-”

Lavellan quickly interrupted Imshael, before he could finish his thought. “Cullen, if you would please excuse me. It seems I forgot I had a previous engagement. This won’t take long.” She mouthed the word “outside” to Imshael and stalked out the door, once again carrying that ever familiar irritation in her glare and with Imshael not too far behind her.

Cullen really didn’t know what to make of this man. No one talked to the Inquisitor that way; she had no patience, no sense of humor. That woman was a wall.  Who did this Imshael think he was?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lavellen drove a path through the hallway, soldiers and guests dodging out of the way as she stormed through.  The small woman never stopped to see if her guest was still following her, she didn’t have to. It was all too clear at this point that she should give up any hope of him just leaving her be.  One last door and they were standing in the Chantry garden.

There were a lot more people than usual, some in small groups discussing some matter or other, and some wandering alone, seemingly seeking a time for quiet contemplation among stone statues and potted herbs. Privacy was a leisure that seemed to no longer exist. This was something Lavellan had grown to accept, but she couldn’t have this discussion where others could hear.

“You were in a much more agreeable mood when I left you last night,” he teased.

A Chantry Sister, sitting on a worn bench, looked up from the book she was reading. She eyed them with curiosity, and made no attempt to hide she was doing so.  Lavellan flashed the woman a forced smile. Her acknowledgement was enough to deter the Sister from any further attempts at eavesdropping. Quickly and quietly she gathered her book and left in search of a new seat in the garden. Lavellan watched her leave, all the while scouring the area for an alcove or unused corner where maybe they wouldn’t be overheard so easily. Morrigan and her son were by the pavilion, so that was out of the question. That woman would probably know everything that was going on anyway, no reason to give her a front row seat. There was that room with the Eluvian, but letting him see the ancient elven artifact in their possession wasn’t worth the bit of privacy the old door could offer.

Abruptly, her thoughts were cut short when she felt his hand come to rest at the base of her spine.  She swallowed the lump in her throat and stayed perfectly still, caught somewhere between what she knew she should do, and what her body was willing of her. The warmth his hand created contrasted strikingly with the chill that hung in the mountain air. She wanted it to wash over her, her frame to be wrapped in his arms. Part of her still screamed ‘move’, but was that flutter in her stomach anger welling, or fear?

The slightest amount of pressure and he leaned in towards her, lips brushing against her ear. “How about I help you remember?”  

Just as suddenly as he had placed it, he removed his hand and was walking towards the other end of the courtyard. No, it wasn’t fear, just irritation. Of course he would insist on touching her here, in front of everyone. Lavellan may not have been Orlesian but she knew how the game was played. All he had to do was get enough people to see them together and she would be backed into a corner. In fact it was probably too late already, though that wouldn’t stop her from trying.

As they neared the far end of the garden Lavellan saw his intent. The door of the room which held a large statue of Andraste was open. It was rare to not find at least one person in prayer, but the room was empty, save for a few burning candles and the stone prophet. Once inside, she glanced out the door to see how many eyes had followed them. Unexpectedly, everyone seemed too distracted to notice the Inquisitor trudging past them.

“Stop worrying, I made sure they didn’t notice us enter.”  He pushed to door closed, and leaned back against it. “It’s a useful little trick.”

“Yea, well they knew you were here last night.” She threw him an accusing look.

He smiled back at her. “Well, of course they did. I made sure of it.”

“Uh huh, and what, all of this so if I sent you away I wouldn’t be able to lie about you not showing?” her small hands balled into fists, locked at her sides. “I’m sure that’s just what you do; covering your exits as it were, but why was it necessary for them to know what we were doing.”

“Don’t look at me. I may have made sure they saw me arrive but everything after that well, that’s all on you.”

Lavellan went to protest, but before she could he held up his hand to stop her.

“Dear you really don’t realize what a set of lungs you have, do you? Pretty sure the troops camping outside these walls could hear you last night.”

“Get out.”

“That’s what I like about you Inquisitor; you never go back on your decisions. Even when they’ve been the wrong ones, you would never admit it. You make your choice, and you live with it.”

“Well what a nice back handed compliment.” She glared. “And I have changed my mind, now leave.”

“Oh come on, you don’t mean that.” A knowing smirk appeared on his lips. “What will everyone think if you go back on your word?”

“And what makes you think I’m worried about what they think of me?” Now this was a whole new level of denial.

“Because while the world out there may think you some knife-eared savage, not only saved but chosen by her holiness to lead a crusade against evil: truly a testament to the forgiveness of the maker, lest we forget.” He paused to chuckle at his own wit, and then carried on. “The ones in here… the ones that are to support you in this holy endeavor, the ones you rely on and would be powerless without,” he cocked his head. “They see through your bullshit. “

Of course he knew what she feared, and why wouldn’t she expect him to try and use it against her? The only thing she could do is repeat the words she always used to reassure herself.  “They have followed me this far.”

“Yes but now that they know you have brought me on, do you really want to test what little faith they have left by changing your mind?” An exaggerated look of contemplation appeared on his brow. “I mean I was working with the enemy, and you brought me here, and now? How do you think they will react when you send me on my way? All this lovely information I now have, the inner workings of your keep, your ties with opposing groups, certain expeditions you have sent scouts on. Such a shame if something were to happen to them.”

“Are you threatening me?!” Fire lit her fingertips.

Something between a loud sigh and a growl escaped Imshael. “Of course not, but you know it’s what they would think. And sure, there probably won’t be a mutiny, but they _can_ leave you.” He paused a moment, letting his words sink in. When Lavellan didn’t respond, he continued. “In all honesty, yes I did fully intend to make sure people knew of our ‘relationship’, but not this early.” He laughed a little. “You changed the game there, that’s for certain.”

“I could just kill you.”

“Calm down, I can’t work with you like this, talk about a hostile work environment. Look around Lady Inquisitor; no one is drained of their blood, no possessed corpses walking around, and no dead soldiers asleep in their tents. You made a choice last night, so live with it. Better yet, savor it.”

She knew there was truth to what he was saying, but she was far too stubborn to admit it. She wanted to stay angry. “You’re a manipulative asshole,” she spat.

“Just a pretty way of saying I’m right, my dear.”

The flames grew at her fingers, now engulfing her hand and licking up her arm. Imshael didn’t even look at it; his eyes were locked to hers as he closed the distance between them.  The tension between them as their bodies neared hung heavy in the air. Her icy glare was met with his self-assured smirk. He stood there, daring her to throw the fire at him, knowing full well she wouldn’t.

A silent minute passed during this battle of wills, until a small fire seemed to ignite behind his green eyes, he had found something he had been searching for. “You were so eager to find what I had left behind.”

Both hands began tracing the hem of her shirt. He let a finger on each side slip underneath, and drew slow circles across her hips. The movement was relaxing, hypnotizing, and Lavellan’s hand began to tremble, concentration slipping from her grasp.

“You were looking in the wrong areas.” Without warning he dug his fingers into her tender flesh, clutching her hips.  A raw ache grew beneath his grasp and she lost her balance, stumbling slightly into him.  She moved to pull away but he held her against him, now kneading at her sore hips. “If you would have turned around, used the mirror to look at your _exquisite_ ass, you would have found what you were looking for.”

The smallest things he did shook her conviction, and it terrified her. Internally, she chastised herself for reacting so quickly to even his slightest touch. Lavellan gave her best attempt at sounding angry but couldn’t hide the waver in her voice, “What gives you the right-“

It was Imshael who began the kiss this time.  A warm haze washed over her, numbing all outside problems and worries. She could only focus on what his presence was doing to her.  He was gentler than the previous night, but lacked none of the original passion.   She relaxed into the kiss, parting her own lips for him.  It was warm and firm, and caused her thighs to clench. The knots in her stomach were loosening, and they were growing hungry for more. Just as she was about to reach out to pull him towards her, he broke the kiss and pulled away.  For a moment he studied her face, a slight hint of confusion creased her brow.

“Shall I continue?” he purred.

Red crept to her cheeks, but she showed only annoyance in her tone. “Why do you ask what you already know?”

He cradled her face in his palms, pausing to brush his thumb against her cheek before bringing her mouth to his once again. Her hair tie slipped off with ease, releasing her red tresses to fall past her shoulders. It was reassurance that laced his lips, promises of care and support. He planted those vows across her wanting mouth. His breath upon hers spoke of comfort, an alleviation of responsibility. Even though she could not forget his true nature; in that moment his unspoken assurance seemed the highest form of truth. It released her anxiety, and made light of the weight that rested on her.

She even felt a little foolish for all the guilt she insisted on carrying. She knew what she was doing, and had full confidence in the power she could wield over this creature. This was not a time for second guessing her own decisions, especially when they felt this good. Her insides began to stir, and she found herself needing more.

Her teeth found his bottom lip, and she was less than gentle when she bit the tender flesh. Hips rocking, she rubbed herself against his much larger form. Letting escape breathless moans, she encouraged his attentions. Suddenly his tenderness was replaced by something fierce. He was all hands, weaving their way into her hair, forming tight fists that tangled her roots. A mess of wildfire sat in his hands and rained out of his palms.  He pulled until she exposed her neck to him. Searching fingers played across the vulnerable skin, following the pulse until he reached her chest. They dragged across her body; leaving firm squeezes behind. Her figure was explored by his strong touch until he came to the heat between her legs. He pushed her thighs apart, holding her in his hand. Through her thin pants he could feel her folds, and traced two fingers down the middle.

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat and she grabbed Imshael by the wrist. “We’re in the _Chantry.”_

“A place of worship right?” He stopped kissing her neck only long enough to give the answer.

Imshael resumed his ministrations, keeping his fingers placed firmly against her. Lavellan still held on, until a slightly annoyed sigh escaped him. “Please spare me, you’re not even Andrastian.”

_Can you be a Herald for something you don’t believe in…_

Tentatively she released his wrist. He unsnapped the first button and traced a finger on the line where her leggings had sat.

She moaned when the first finger slipped in. He placed his forehead against hers, memorizing her face, with every small expression that furrowed her brow or parted her lips, and all the beautiful noises she made.  Her walls clenched when he slid the second finger in, and he curled them in response. He began a slow rhythmic motion, tracing his fingertips again and again over her slick walls. A slight quiver in his grasp and she began to drip,

“You’ve ruined your underclothes.”  

Lavellan felt herself swell with pride at his acknowledgment. She knew how wet she felt, and what a mess she was, but she wanted to see him destroy her.  To see how far he could push her body, how needy he could make her feel.

A roll of her hips encouraged his palm to press against her. She squeezed around him, trembling and panting, and began matching her hips with the movement of his hands. The world dissolved, all that existed was the smell of burnt incense and her sex.

Each moan that escaped her lips Imshael took into himself. His mouth attached to her own, only allowing her catch her breath when it would come as a gasp.  Warmth and wetness dripped down her legs. She wanted him inside her, for him to take her right there on the Chantry floor, but she couldn’t turn away his skillful hand.  It was sending her to a beautiful place, filled with a thick heat that grew from her insides and made her limbs grow heavy.

When his thumb found its way to her bundle of nerves she bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out. She could not prevent her unchecked hitch in her body as her nerves lit up. It didn’t go unnoticed, Imshael swiped his thumb over it again, and Lavellan squeezed her eyes shut.

Keeping his thumb in place he added a third finger inside her, releasing a deep groan from her throat. Slowly, he pumped them into her and began whispering in her ear. “Those little gasps, and moans,” he grazed her cervix enticing another noise from her, “yes, that’s what I like to hear; you make the most delicious sounds,”

In that moment Lavellan prayed to whatever god would listen. Begging for the creature buried in between her thighs to never stop. That she would never need to come down from this high. He began circling her clit again and the fire in her stomach raged; she bit her own tongue to prevent the anticipated noise from escaping.

“but I prefer it when you scream,” he breathed.

Her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest, and her fingers pulled at his hair, she was trying desperately to hang on, she wanted release, her body screamed for it. But she knew she’d be too loud, too needy. Disgustingly vulnerable.

Suddenly he flexed his whole hand, the sudden pressure sent a throb through her entire body, and before she knew what was happening she lost control.  He was quick to muffle her cries, taking her mouth to his once again.

Nails biting into stone, she groped the wall behind her trying to steady herself.  Her knees betrayed her, shaking like some newborn halla they refused to hold her weight for much longer.  Sensing her inevitable collapse Imshael grabbed onto her waist, and pinned her body with his own, not yet removing his hand from her pants. Still quaking beneath his grasp she pawed at his chest, trying to regain her composure.  Her head was still spinning, but she needed find her bearings.

Her voice was quiet and shaky as she said, “I-I’m fine, you-“

“Shh,” he hushed, “don’t speak just yet.”

She was starting to gain control over her body again, when he pulled his fingers out of her, purposefully dragging them over the bundle of nerves on their way out. A short spasm of her hips and her legs almost gave out completely.

Slowly he let her sink to the stone floor, resting his cheek against hers so she could hear him whisper, “Relax, try to enjoy it.” With a bit more force than was necessary, he gripped her chin to turn her face and pushed his lips to her ear.  “Otherwise I’m going to start thinking you don’t appreciate the things I do to you.” His grin was audible in his tone.

Slumped against the wall, Lavellan turned her hazy eyes to the demon kneeling between her legs. Still as composed as ever.  From his look no one would be able to guess he wasn’t there on bent knee sending prayers to the Maker. Eyes of veilfire held her gaze, an interesting gleam that she couldn’t quite place was emanating from them.  He was the very image of self-control, and it only made her more aware of just how overwhelmed her body must look.  

She couldn’t stop the small snort from escaping her, or the dry chuckle that followed.  “Oh bullshit, you’ve been doing this for how long?” She waved a hand at him and said, “I’m not stroking your ego for you.”

“Come now, no breathless declarations of incredulity? Not even a ‘thank you’?”

She met his grin with a roll of her eyes, but before she could think of a response he was at her neck again, his weight heavy on her small frame. His warmth was smothering her. She strained to pull out from under him, but he only hummed and held her in place, turning his kisses into nips at her tender skin.

“Not even a little act of reciprocation?” He placed her hand on his swollen need.

She traced an outline around him, flexing her fingers as she went. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

He brushed the hair away from her ear and leaned in, “Show your appreciation.”

With that he left her still slumped against the wall and made his way across the chamber.  He walked towards the thread bare rug that was left for those who wished to kneel in prayer. For a brief moment Lavellan thought he would stop there, but he only turned to face her once he was standing practically in the shrine. There were a few lit candles; some scattered gold coins left as offerings for the Chantry, and in the middle, a larger than life stone statue of the Maker’s Bride herself. Imshael stood beneath her outstretched hands.

After a moment he raised his palms to her. “What do you think?”  He seemed proud of his own suggestion.

Lavellan blinked a few times, trying to form a coherent sentence that would describe just how amazed she was that she wasn’t surprised at all. “You’re all about theatrics aren’t you?”

“Ah you caught me,” he brushed the hair out of his eyes, running his hand back over his head. “What can I say?” Spinning on his heel, he gestured with both arms wide towards the statue, voice teeming with pride.  “Desecrating the Inquisition’s Chantry, with the Herald herself.”  He flashed her a grin. “I’ve had thoughts of this since I first laid eyes on you.”

It wasn’t unexpected at all really. She covered her face with her hands and shook her head from side to side. After everything she was worried about just a few minutes earlier, here she was already listening to what he wanted and not too far off from admitting she wanted it too.

_If I’m this far in, might as well add sacrilege to the list…_

If she was throwing out her morals, dammit she was going to have fun doing it. She took her time making her way across the room, holding his gaze every step of the way.

“You know, I hear the best way to show devotion is on your knees,” he offered.

If the large bugle straining against his trousers was any indication, he had been ready for her attentions for quite a while.  He relieved himself of the fabric prison with a groan and slight look of relief, and gave a few deliberate strokes as if it was sore.

Her fingers played across his skin, ghostly caresses across his pelvis; a slight drag of the nail against tender flesh, tracing a path from base to tip. Light touches that were less pleasing and more tormenting.

Wrapping his own hand around hers he squeezed, she could feel the sudden throb of him in her grasp, and he began to drip.

“Stop being a tease,” he growled.

Lavellan arched her eyebrow and threw a smirk at him before lowering herself to her knees. She had never seen him so serious, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t play the tease for once. Slowly, _very_ slowly she moved her hand, grazing his swollen head on each stroke.  Thumb slick with him, she played with his sensitive nerves, inducing another small release from him. Soon she was gliding her hand around him with ease.  With a rub of his tip an unchecked thrust escaped him, accompanied by a wanting moan.

It wasn’t long before he wove his fingers through her hair and forced her eyes to his own, “Inquisitor…”  He was growing impatient.

She cocked her head to the side, a look of feigned innocence spread across her amused face. Her grip tightened and she drew slow circles around his head, which swelled with each passing movement.

_Look at him writhe._

A long inhale and he held his breath, teeth biting into his bottom lip. His other hand gripped her chin; thumb rough and forceful across her lips. Almost instinctually she parted them and he slid two fingers in. Her scalp stung when he tugged at her hair.

Her eyes became lidded, she swirled her tongue and sucked on his fingers, never lowering her eyes. The faint taste of her own release still clung to him, and she savored it. With curled fingers he pushed on her tongue, crimson lips wet and tempting opened revealing a little mouth that he knew just how to use.

If left to her own machinations she would have made him beg, but somehow she knew he’d end up taking what he wanted before she ever got him to that point. He positioned himself in front of her, mouth agape still spread by his fingers. He was giving her one last chance to make the first move. Lavellan leaned forward, and took the first inch of him in her mouth, cradling him between full lips.

He gave a small thrust, wanting to drive home the fact that she should speed up the process, instead of just trying to torment him. She was already too smug for her own good. The next moment took him by surprise. The feeling when she pushed back, she slid him all the way in. The collision with her throat and how it struggled to open around him had him tugging on her hair. Her lips kissed his base; the rhythm of her breath, her chest heaving, as she willed her body to control itself. All of it was overwhelming.

The noise that escaped him was barely human.  He stared at her in disbelief, this tiny elf woman swallowing all of him. Though it was clear she couldn’t hold him like this for long. She deserved praise, but right now he was still too enthralled to do more than just stare, caught in the trance of her throat flexing around him. His hands quaked in the depth of her tresses; unsure of the proper pressure he should be placing on the woman, stuck waiting on her to make the next move.

Small tears formed from her strain, but she blinked them away. Her senses were overloaded, but still she concentrated on her breathing. His scent was consuming, and with each breath she took in more of it, a thick aroma that stirred her insides once again.

Slowly she pulled back, releasing him from her throat until she held him in her mouth.  A wanton moan tore through him and, much to her surprise, he pulled her head forward. Thinking he was aiming for her throat again she braced herself waiting for the impact. Instead he was falling back, leaning against the statue of Andraste that was the center of the room. She moved with him, and began a gentle bob of her head.

Only the sounds of his labored breathing echoed in the empty Chantry. She kept a steady pace, sucking as she withdrew each time. Each throb encouraged her, as well as the salty flavor that leaked from him. She let him fall from her mouth, but eagerly started with her tongue. She swirled it around him, exploring every inch. He let go of her hair, instead digging his fingers into the stone statue. One long lick up his length had him shuddering in her grasp.

She placed a kiss before taking him in her mouth again.  Every few passes she’d take him to the hilt. Without fail it would elicit a breathless praise from him and a stroke of her hair. When his breath began to quicken she wrapped her fingers around him, giving an extra squeeze.  She knew she had him on the edge, and the power she wielded over him had her slick with her own need once again. But she knew how to treat her lovers, and this was his time for pleasure. Raising her gaze, she drank in her view of him; head slung back, lips slightly parted, and eyes closed. He looked wonderfully defenseless, lost in the throes of desire.

Her pace quickened, and when she just about had him she slid him into her throat again. Holding him within her she swallowed around him. His body tensed and bucked beneath her treatment and a final groan escaped him as he finished. His seed was thick and salty on her tongue and she savored all of it.

After she had drained every drop from him, she pulled away. He readjusted, tucking himself back into his trousers. She moved to stand but he kept her knelt before him. Weaving his hands in her hair again, he placed a grateful kiss on the crown of her head. Resting his forehead against her, he buried his nose in her hair and breathed deep.  She placed her hand on his own, and let her thumb caress his.

Just as the excitement was dulling allowing the ache in her knees to set in Imshael pulled Lavellan to her feet and into an embrace, holding her chest against his own with their bodies being supported by the stone woman behind them.

Lavellan shook her head and threw him smuggest grin she could muster. “Now who’s the panting mess?”

Imshael let out a long sigh, what was he to do with her?  “I tell you Lady Inquisitor, you’re just full of surprises.”

Suddenly his head snapped to the door. Without a word he grabbed her and pulled her around the statue. He had her pinned again, her back against Andraste’s. She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his hand.

Not a moment later and the creak of an old wooden door announced the arrival of someone new.


	6. Privacy, or Lack There Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan should know by now that news travels fast in Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter everyone, I was trapped in Solavellan hell so nothing got accomplished during that time. ~~Come back next week for a longer chapter. (Will be up either Monday or Tuesday)~~ I'm really just a liar sorry.
> 
> On a side note: Let me know if there is anything smut-wise you guys would like to see. I have quite a few ideas but why not get you readers involved? :D

It was unmistakable, that stifled snickering that filled the chamber.

_Well, there are worse people it could be…_

If they stayed quiet enough maybe she wouldn’t notice them, but what if she did? The Herald pinned between Andraste and some new agent, cowering in the shadows. Creators, what did she look like.

The patter of feet came closer to the statue. A burn grew in Lavellan’s cheeks, and quickly spread to the tips of her ears. Embarrassment was unfamiliar, something she had buried along with other unnecessary states of mind. Yet that thought didn’t calm her now, the burn grew despite her willing it away. A deep inhale to quell the nerves spinning in her stomach, and then another. Her face was buried in the fabric of his robes, drowning in heavy air that hung around them, and the intense heat their bodies created.  

When he felt the sudden rise and fall of her chest against his own, he placed a single hand on her head; soft soothing strokes against her wild locks of hair. An all too tender act of reassurance, one she would surely question later.

Yes, this would be much harder to explain than if they had just stayed put, or she could have stomped out of the room.  That wouldn’t seem too out of character… Just put up a front, act like she was at the end of her patience. No questions would be asked.  She knew she had disappointed Sera on numerous occasions, and now she just saw her as another of the big hats, as Sera had put it.  So she may have gotten a nasty comment or two thrown her way as she exited the room, if Sera was feeling bold. However, a couple childish, albeit nasty, remarks would still be preferable to the current situation.

Just as the smallest streak of blonde hair became visible from their hiding spot, Lavellan ducked beneath Imshael’s arm, and swung herself around the opposite side of the statue: keeping quiet steps as she angled herself behind the intruder. Sera was bent over, clutching an armful of candles.  Rings of dried wax marked where she had removed them. Some of the wax rings had slightly smaller candles sitting inside of them, looking as if they had never been burned. Still giggling to herself, she didn’t hear Lavellan stop right behind her.

“Sera, what are you doing?”

There were multiple thuds as the candles fell to the floor, then rolled off in various directions. Sera’s breath hitched when she realized who was inquiring.

“Inquisitor, ma’am.  What are you doing here?”

Lavellan shrugged “Do I need to ask permission before being in my own castle?”

“No no that’s not what I said, don’t be twisting things.” Her hands waved frantically in front of her.  Sera was all too aware of how the Inquisitor managed to make everything worse when she showed up. A single glance into a room and all the fun would dry up.

There were a few times she had expected to be thrown from the Inquisition. To think she had invited this woman to help her take out a noble and she struck a deal with the man! Sera had let her have it then, but did quizzy react? No, just a stern glare, and a comment about how it was her decision, and then she _thanked_ her. Actually thanked Sera for bringing her to this man. She was just another who punched down.

“Just a harmless prank, nothing you’d be interested in.” She looked to the candles that were strewn about and giggled. “It’s a good one though.”

Lavellan bent and grabbed one that had rolled next to her feet. It didn’t look too different from the ones set here previously, the color was a little off but otherwise it was a perfectly normal candle. She turned it over again in her hands. “Any safety concerns I should be having right about now?”

Sera snorted, “Nah, completely harmless. Don’t know what they’re made of, but they smell of rotten eggs, or butt or something when you light it...” Sera let her voice drop, something was off.  “Wait… you’re not pissed.”

She leaned on one leg, bobbing up and down to get a better look at the man standing behind the Inquisitor.  Her brow knitted together, and she threw a curious look between the two.  After a moment the realization came to her, and she let out a ridiculous giggle that ended in a snort.

“He help pull your knickers out your arse?”

Lavellan opened her mouth but nothing came out.  Instead she threw a look to Imshael, who had stepped out from behind the statue but was still keeping his distance behind her. Silently, she pleaded with him for some witty comment to get her out of this situation. He only shrugged, and didn’t bother to hide his grin when frustration painted its way across her face.

“Finally! Brave man getting anywhere close to that.”  Sera shook her head, and her tone dropped. “A few more times and maybe he’ll knock the bitch out you for good, yea?”

“Sera…” there was warning in her tone.

“I mean, us little people can hope right?” Sera practically skipped out the door laughing, “Still, too fuckin good.”

The door slammed behind her, and groan of irritation escaped Lavellan. She absently ran a hand across her brow, feeling the little lines that grew there. The strain in her neck was creeping back. It was always interesting how you could forget something the plagued you so easily, and by the time it worked its way back in you realize that you never stopped to appreciate its absence.

_Well, if there were those who didn’t suspect anything before, they certainly would now with Sera and her big mouth._

Two large hands grasped her shoulders from behind. “You certainly have the love of your people,” he teased.

“Yea the sarcasm,” she pried one finger from its grip, and the rest of his hand followed, “really isn’t helping right now.”

“You didn’t have to do that, I had the situation under control,” he offered.

“Yea and let her find us all… unkempt. No, I’d much prefer-“

“She wouldn’t have noticed.”

Suddenly a thought came to Lavellan, the way no one noticed when they entered the room to begin with. Imshael had said he had prevented that as well. Did she really just make Sera aware of everything when there was no need?

“I believe your Commander has been waiting for us.”

He offered his hand to her, her hair ribbon hung, pinched between his fingers.  The dark silk slid easily into her hand. A few twists and she tied her hair back into the neatest bun she could manage. No reason to look the mess she felt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day went as smoothly as could truly be expected. Lavellan called a meeting with her war council, and invited Imshael. He managed to behave himself through the whole thing, which was more than surprising.  She told them _most_ of the truth. He worked with the red Templars before this, that he had been hired on to help oversee some mining expedition of red lyrium in Emprise du Lion, and that once confronted with Inquisition forces he readily offered his services as an agent to the Inquisition.

It would be a lie to say the advisors seemed fully on board, but at this point they had grown accustomed to the Inquisitor signing on anyone no matter how vile, if she thought they could be of use. None of it sat right with Cullen.

He didn’t recognize the man but he couldn’t shake the feeling he had heard his name before. The more he dwelled on the events of earlier that day, the more confused he became. It just didn’t make sense. The way that man, Imshael, spoke to her, and the sudden break in her composure. He’d have to keep an eye on him. Did the Inquisitor get herself stuck in some sort of agreement with this man, did she owe him something? Why else would she tolerate such an insufferable person?

It seemed like Josephine and Leliana had it all figured out. It was written in those sideways glances they gave each other as the Inquisitor and Imshael had entered the room and the same when they left. When he inquired it was Leliana who responded first, seemingly shocked that he hadn’t made the same observations as them.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Leliana cast Cullen an odd look. The one that showed both a genuine question, as well as that smug superiority she couldn’t keep off her face when she had made an observation he had missed out on. “He is her lover.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Did you not see her hair? Hastily tied in a loose bun so unlike her, clothes slightly askew. It only proves our suspicions from the night before.”

Josephine added her share to the conversation, “Not to mention Sera practically ran out of the Chantry laughing, and yelling various obscene things,” she let out a long sigh, “that I’m sure will start rumors more ridiculous than the actual truth. Those we will have to quiet.”

“There’s no way, that she… and him?!”

“Why Commander, are you disappointed?”

“Maker, no! That woman is terrifying.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, and looked to his fellow advisors. “Please, don’t tell her I said that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you stop following me?” Her whisper was harsh, and only escaped through clenched teeth.

“And why would I do that,” he said, ever amused.

“You just want to give them more shit to talk about behind my back,” she grumbled.

“Come now, what more could they say? It’s already spread like wildfire. Skyhold is practically buzzing.”

“Don’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted.”

She swung the door open to the stairwell, ignoring him she let it slam behind her. It didn’t slow him down; he was still following her when she began the ascent to her room.

“I already told you, you’re the one who ruined that little game for me.”

“Yes, because coming here and dismantling everything I worked for, the respect I fought so hard to earn, is nothing but a game for you.” Her words echoed off the walls of the empty stairwell, followed by her mirthless laugh. Her intent held no bite; it wasn’t an accusation, just an acknowledgement. He had no real care for the Inquisition, and she couldn’t expect him to. Creatures like him derived enjoyment from chaos. Of course this was a game to him, how could it be anything else.

His longer legs allowed him to easily overcome her progress up the stairs. He leaned against the wall, effectively blocking her way.  Lavellan stopped suddenly on the stair below him, and she met his eyes with the same exasperation he always seemed to bring out of her.

“It’s more fun when they are just rumors,” the warmth of his hand on her cheek was not entirely unwelcome, “but you my dear,” he brought his forehead to rest on hers, “are anything but quiet” the intensity with which his mouth pressed onto hers sent a shiver down her spine, “when in the throes of pleasure.”

And just as quick as he had locked their lips together he pulled away. He smiled wickedly, and leaned against the wall, allowing Lavellan to continue on her way, and resumed his usual exaggerated speech.

“Not that I’m complaining. It’s just now they know we were doing a whole lot more than discussing the intricacies of Red Lyrium and its effect on the weak willed- oh I’m sorry I mean Templars.”

She sighed as she reached the top of the steps. “Not that this hasn’t been a lovely conversation, but I’m exhausted so if you would excuse me.”

She attempted to shut the door behind her, but it stopped short with a creak of the old hinges. Imshael had successfully wedged his foot between the door and its frame. Lavellan leaned her weight against the wood, to enforce the idea, in case there was any doubt, that she did not want him to follow her. Still, his foot didn’t budge.

When she swung the door open, Lavellan spread her arm across the doorway.

“You’re not living in my room.”

“Oh come now, we’ve been over this.”  He threw a questioning look at Lavellan.  They may not have discussed the finer details of their arrangement, but this should have been obvious. The look on her face debated otherwise.

It was written in that arc of her eyebrows, and the tilt of her head. Her fingers drummed across the door frame.

“You’re really not going to let me in are you?”

She would too, but she had to keep some self-discipline.

_I’d never get anything accomplished._

That was it; she had made her decision, no more guilt. She owed it to herself to do something, someone, she actually enjoyed. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips.

“Goodnight Imshael, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She didn’t wait for his response before shutting the door. Her fingers ran over the warmth that still lingered from his kiss.

_Just a little self-discipline._


End file.
